On The Eve Of Adulthood
by Celtic Ember
Summary: As Harry turns seventeen, several letters are delivered to him. He gains advice and darkness, foolishness and light from those he thought he lost- and those he gained. This story is now complete.
1. Setting The Stage

A/N- Well, here it is. Yet another angsty fan fiction that I won't have time to finish to my complete satisfaction. Writing seems to be an outlet I can only utilize in the very early hours of the morning, so please excuse the fact that Harry seems to be in the dark an awful lot. It seems to fit the mood. This chapter is mainly a setup for the ones to follow, so please excuse it. It's a trifle bitter.  
  
  
  
I don't really know why I'm writing this. I mean, I was just sitting here, minding my own business, when I got this sudden and overwhelming urge to write. Perhaps it is the letters that you will never read that I am sitting her looking at. They make it seem like I should forgive you slightly, s if you will be concerned when you wake to find that your burden has been lifted. It's way to early in the morning, you know. I will be leaving soon. You really have no idea what my life has been like lately. After all, I'm just a stick in the side to you. You never knew me, and you never cared to know me. That stopped hurting when I was three. However, it is a little sad when your only blood relatives don't give a damn about you, isn't it? I want to ask you so many questions, find out so many things. I know next to nothing about my mother, and absolutely nothing about my father. How would you like your ickle duddikins to know nothing? If you two had been the ones killed, and my parents had raised him, would you really have wanted him to be treated as you've treated me? Think about it.  
  
I don't really care about your opinion. I have a family that cares about me. They may not be my blood family, but their mine. And If I have my way, I will never have to see you- any of you- ever again. You have no idea how much I dreamed of some unknown relative sweeping me out of that bloody cupboard, and taking me home. I have escaped death, defeated a wizard that WOULD have happily killed you. I have kept your nearsighted little Muggle normalcy safe, and yet you do not realize what the consequences would have been had I not. When I was made a prefect, and later Head Boy, did I get congratulations? No. But as I said, I don't care. For today is my seventeenth birthday, and I am sitting in the small room that you allotted to me when I was 11. Amazing how the time flies, is it not? For when you wake, your unpaid servant will be gone, and you can forget that I ever existed.  
  
I will be leaving you all a present. One that you can't get rid of. Dudley may even thank me for it, as he might even be able to get himself a girlfriend. I don't really care. But there is no way for you great Muggles to find me once I'm gone, and the Ministry has given be permission to help my poor, unfortunate, Muggle relatives. By the way, I checked into the chances of you two, or Dudley, having any magical children. As for you two, the chances are nil. You haven't a drop of magical blood in your veins. As for Dudley, it will depend on whom he marries.  
  
Farewell, my most hated relatives. I bid you a very joyful farewell. May we never cross paths again, as my portkey is activating I five minutes, and ten minutes after that, I will be happily asleep in my bed at the Weasleys. I will be living with my family. If, for some odd reason you need to call on me, I've left a bit of powder. Throw it into the fire, and call my name. I should be able to hear you- If I feel like it.  
  
Most Insincerely,  
  
Harry Potter  
  
Harry threw down his quill and smiled. He gathered the many letters from the past he had received, and reflected upon them. He levitated the newly finished letter out his door, and attached it to the door of the loo with a sticking charm. After glancing around the much hated room one last time, he placed his portkey on his trunk, and held on to in. Five…Four…Three…Two…One.  
  
He felt the slight pull behind his navel, and was deposited at the Weasley's front door. He happily went up to Ron's room, where he shared his letters with his friend. He began with his mothers, knowing that Ron would not interrupt until he was sure that Harry was through. Though it was early in the morning, Hermione and Ron had both been waiting up for him, so they both sat back to listen as Harry's slightly shaky voice began to read the contents of the letter.  
  
  
  
A/N- Well? Aren't you going to review? Huh, are ya? 


	2. To My Son

A/N- I'm posting this at the same time that I post the first chapter, because I want you all to get an idea of what I mean. This will be added to as I'm inspired. That's it.  
  
  
  
The faded envelope has a neat script in emerald ink, with which is written:  
  
"To be delivered to Harry James Potter, On July 31, 1997. Signed Lily Marie Evans Potter, this 1st day of September, 1981.  
  
  
  
My dearest son,  
  
As I write this letter to you, you are sitting in your crib, gurgling away happily at the Quidditch mobile that Sirius brought you when he came over earlier. It seems sto be so unfair that you can't go out in the bright sunshine on a broom with your father and feel the wind on your face, but I guess that some things are just not meant to be. Hopefully, you will never read this letter. It will stay in the bottom of the Godric's Hollow post office box until it's set release date, and then will be destroyed as I will be able to welcome you into the wizarding word as an adult myself. If that happy event does not come to pass, however, I wanted to still be able to greet you.  
  
We will be going into hiding soon, as Dumbledore has told us that someone close to us is passing information to Lord Voldemort. I don't doubt that you have heard of this dark wizard, my son, and so I hope you will forgive me for not going into details. Tomorrow, Sirius is coming over to perform the Fidelius Charm on Peter, to guard our secret and keep us safe. Remus will not be told of the change. I can't bear the idea that our beloved Moony might be the traitor, but we can think of no one else. Padfoot would rather die, and Peter would lose his protector. I don't trust Peter at all, but Sirius and James insisted that we change secret keepers in order to be fool proof. I ask tht you make sure that everyone knows that Sirius wasn't the keeper. It was Peter Pettigrew.  
  
Well, you are now seventeen. A far cry from the baby gurgling upstairs in his crib. You are now a full-fledged member of the wizarding community, and I hope you use this privilege well. To be an adult means that you will be burdened with many new responsibilities, Harry, but also so many joys! When I first walked into Diagon Alley at the age of eleven, the first words out of my mouth were 'Wondrous Things!', from a book I had read. Those word were repeated when I received my adult status. The joys of apparating, of being able to practice spells everyday, of just being a member instead of a member in training were too marvelous to behold. Of course, I would hope that you saw Diagon Alley considerably before your eleventh birthday. You are, after all, a Potter. I am the first Muggle-born wife of a Potter in thirteen generations. How about that for a bloodline?  
  
Well, I only have three pieces of advice for you. The first is to love yourself. No matter what happens, what trials you are forced to suffer or what crosses you must bear, it will be less wearying to the heart and easier on the soul if you can look in the mirror and truly love what you see. Not just your appearance, though if you still look as much like your father as you do at this moment, you will have nothing to complain about. Your true inner self is what you have to appreciate. All your quirks and faults, strengths and oddities. Trust me, it makes life a whole lot easier to live.  
  
The second is to follow your instincts. I do admit that I feel like a bit of a hypocrite writing that, since there is no way that I will be able to do so in the coming days. My instincts are positively screaming to keep Sirius and to not trust Peter. You will know by then how good they were. When the time comes when you have to make a choice between your head and your heart, choose your gut. Know that that is the right choice, for that knowledge is very seldom wrong.  
  
The last, my son, is to trust. It is a great and terrible thing, to trust someone. Know whom you can and can not bestow this gift upon, but never give up trusting entirely. It would be horrible to go through life never knowing who and what you could count on. I see your father and Padfoot being torn apart by their doubts about Moony, and I have to wonder if they have been enchanted to doubt the three mains of the Marauders. I still don't consider Wormtail a Marauder, but I guess that's the Lily Marie Potter prejudice coming through.  
  
I want you to go on and live a wonderful life. Know that your father and I love ou very much, and know that I would give anything to tell you all this myself, in person. Your father and I are already very proud of you, Harry. By the time you read this, you will have made us proud a hundred thousand more times. Take care of yourself, and know that we are watching from the Summerlands.  
  
All my love,  
  
Mum  
  
Harry looked as his friends, recalling earlier that night, when he had read it for the first time. They were both somber, though looking happy for him at the same time.  
  
Trembling hands had refolded the slightly aged parchment, and bright green had eyes filled with unshed tears while they looked into the star dotted sky, reaching for a memory, any memory, no matter how vague or troublesome. But none came. Instead, another owl winged its way through the window, with writing that Harry didn't recognize-yet. 


	3. Dark Times

A/N- Here it is, people, another chapter. I'm in a rather dark mood, I apologize. Thank you for the lovely reviews!  
  
The second package that flops open on the bed isn't just a letter. A cautious hand reaches for it, and draws back almost immediately. For on the envelope was a similar missive to the one before, except for one thing. The signature on the envelope was a scrawled 'James H. Potter'. His father. It was also larger then the one before it, and after carefully opening the package, he reached in and pulled out a watch with a braided leather band. The face of the watch had a stag walking in a field of lilies with a baby on its back. It was a muggle watch with hours and minutes. The woven band had stone beads, each with a name or room for a name. Acting on instinct alone, he touched the first bead gently. It glowed, telling him that it's person was not in danger. The bead was his mother's. He looked up wonderingly, and then realized that of course she wasn't in danger- she was gone. Melancholia settled in as he sat down to read the thick letter enclosed.  
  
  
  
  
  
Dear Harry,  
  
Well, you aren't even a year old yet, and already we must prepare for the worst. Your mother doesn't know that I am writing this to you, and I don't intend to tell her. She doesn't know it, but I very much doubt tht we will have the privilage of watching you grow up. The ancient spell that your mother found will protect you. As for us, I would cast it on her if I could, but I can not. It has to be a parent to child. I'm hoping that answers any questions that you had on that subject.  
  
It's springtime here now, and the lilacs are blooming. The crocuses that your mother loves so much are just finishing after announcing the joyous return from the rainy winter. I know, I'm getting poetic in my paranoia, but I think of this whole dark time as winter, and eventually spring will come and the tiger lily's can come out of hiding. That's your mother's nickname, by the way. I have no doubt that you have been filled in on Moony, Wormtail, Padfoot and Prongs by now. Tiger, however, was a Cerise Unicorn, not a Marauder, so her nickname may have been more obscure.  
  
You crawled today. You're only nine months old and your motoring around like someone attached an engine to your behind. I can hardly wait to put you on a broomstick. My son, I hope you will forgive your mother and I if we aren't there to see you fly. I hope and pray we will be, but my damned Celtic senses are assuring me that we won't be. I hope you have grown up well.  
  
If we are dead, it is because your mother was right and Sirius and I were wrong. I would almost rather be wrong then believe that Remus, our Moony, is betraying us. If he is, I doubt he is doing it willingly. Sirius thinks that Voldemort has gotten a hold of a way to control the werewolves and is forcing them to follow him. I am ashamed to admit that I harbour the same doubts. If he is there, apologize to him for me, for that will mean that I was, indeed, wrong.  
  
Well, enough of this dark doom and gloom. I want you to have a happy seventeenth birthday, Harry. Prank your way into history! You should have seen the havoc your mother and I pulled at her sister's place. Blue food, purple ceilings, and we even inflated that deadly dull husband of hers- made it genetic, too. Now whatever children they have will be the size of small houses unless they watch their diet. We almost got in trouble with the misuse of magic office, but boy was it worth it! We laughed for months.  
  
I ask that you do one thing, Harry. Try to remember that no matter where your mother and I are, we are not dead. As the poem goes, 'Do not stand by my grave and weep, I am not there, I do not sleep.' While it may sound like it's meant to be comforting, it really is telling the truth. We live on in you, and our blood runs through your veins. As young as you are, we can already tell that your temperament is so much like your mothers. You don't seem to have a temper, until you get completely fed up and you explode. Then you decide enough is enough and you settle down back into your happy go lucky selves again. Trust me, I have seen this pattern repeat itself more often then you would care to believe. There is a reason she was called Tiger.  
  
This letter is a lot of ramblings, so I hope you will forgive it's length. I know that much of it is pointless, but I want you to have something of me when you enter adulthood.  
  
You probably know very little of your past, and our past, if you have ended up with anyone but Sirius. I am very much afraid that if we are all killed, you will end up with Lily's muggle relatives, and that could be a fate worse then death for you. So I will give it to you here, and I hope you will forgive the abridged version. If you want to, you can get the entire unabridged version, complete with your mother's family history, in the Hogwarts Library. Not on the shelves, mind you, since only a Potter can see it. It is in the twelfth study cubicle, hidden behind the decorative molding underneath the seat. But here, my baby, are the basics.  
  
You are descended from an ancient line of very powerful wizards. As a matter of fact, you can trace your ancestry back to all four of the Hogwarts founders- how's that for purebloodedness? Your mother is first muggle born witch to be able to handle a Potter heir in over seven centuries. And I do mean handle! It takes a very special witch to have the pure nerve to love us. I do hope that you have already found yours, since closeness is essential. We have always lived in the village of Godric's Hollow, and we have always lived just like everyone else- with one possible exception. I ask that you locate Thimble, the family house elf. Her family has been intertwined with ours from the very beginning. She was present at your birth. We decided that instead of endangering her along with us, we would send her to work for Crimson, your mother's best friend. She didn't want to go.  
  
Anyway, your grandparents on my side died just after you were born, in an attack on the ministry. They were both attending a meeting, as Aurors, when Voldemort locked them in and burned it to the ground. All that was left of all of them was ash. Your grandparents Evans are also passed, also murdered by Voldemort when your mother was thirteen. You gained your eyes from your mother, and she got them from hers. It seems to be passed to one child every generation. You're looks are almost a clone of mine. I often get asked if I transfigured your face when you were born. Your mother tends to get quite indignant when that comes up.  
  
On my side, you had three uncles and an aunt. Your Aunt ran away when she was fifteen, and was soon killed in a car crash when she tried to steal a car. Your Uncle Jeffrey was killed in a Quidditch accident right after he began playing for the Chudley Cannons- opening game of his career, the Falmouth Falcons used the doppelbeater defense and literally broke his head open. Not pretty. Your Uncle Jeremy is now in hiding since Potters seem to be targeted. I would rather not mention your Uncle Jason, but it seems I must. Harry, if you run into a death eater with blue eyes and hair that would be just like yours if it was black, you will know the fate of a family member. He was Kissed by accident, and Voldemort found a way to use him.  
  
As you know, your mother has a sister, Petunia, but she also had a brother. His name was Clover, and he was one of the nicest men you will ever meet. He was older then your mother, but he never made her feel inferior or called her a freak. He too fell to Voldemort.  
  
That about sums us up. I hope you will like your present, I made sure to select it so that you got at least one keepsake of us. I love you dearly, and so does your mother. Never forget that you are a bright shaft of light into this constant dark we live in. Look at me, I'm waxing all poetical again. Moony would be proud. I'm sorry that this letter was so depressing. I may just burn it and write you a more cheerful one late. Oh, if you want to see one of the people engraved in a bead, touch the bead, and whisper 'Lumos persona non grata un appropriam', and it should work. To add a name, touch the clear bead and think of the person. I think that covers it all.  
  
I love you, my son.  
  
Dad 


	4. To Remember

A/N- Well, Another chapter is here. I like to think that maybe friendship will rule the day. This is my reasoning to Dumbledore's 'One day you may be very glad that you saved Pettigrew's life.'  
  
  
  
Harry choked a bit, and tried to contain the rage, the terrible happiness, and the debilitating grief he felt as he opened the next letter. Unlike the other two, it was not delayed delivery. It was sent sometime in the last week, and the parchment it carried allowed for hopes and dreams, grief and despair. Ron and Hermione looked at each other worriedly, and attempted to comfort their friend until he could go on. The envelope gave no clue as to the author, on it was Harry J. Potter written in block letters. Nothing else.  
  
  
  
Dear Harry,  
  
You turn seventeen today. It's hard for me to believe that the infant I held in my arms, the little boy that I watched cry in his aunts garden, the best friend of my adopted family, is now an adult. You will have many trials to go through in these next few years. More then I would wish on anybody. I did what I thought I had to, to gain power and respect. Did you know that your mother and father were the only two who gave that to me? It didn't matter that I was different. It didn't matter to them at all. Which is why betraying them was so difficult.  
  
All those years ago, when I held you, I was already on my path to what I perceived as greatness. Now I know better, but it is too late to stop. I would have you know that I will forever hear their dying screams in my sleep. I, too, am scarred from that night, though mine do not make me famous. Mine merely make me ashamed.  
  
I am quite frankly surprised that you have even read this far into the letter. I expect that you will probably throw it on the fire, and call Sirius to help you track me down, so that you can prove his innocence once and for all. You will not be able to find me. I am heavily guarded now, since the Dark Lord does not want his most efficient lackey killed by those that he once called friends. It won't do any good.  
  
I am sending along an interesting sheet of parchment. You will discover that it is a full confession, signed, dated and witnessed. It was written with Severus Snape's help, three days after the fall of your parents. It should free Sirius. As well, I have enclosed a very old spell, found by my Lord September last. It was of no use to him since it can only be performed by the pure of heart, and even then only to be used on someone who has gone far before their time. It can only be used three times. Use it well.  
  
I will be dead by the time you have received this letter. You were right to stop Moony and Padfoot from killing me, Harry. James wouldn't have wanted to know that his best friends, his LOYAL friends, had turned into murders. But I can not turn myself in to face the Dementors, and my due, so I will kill myself and be done with it, a coward in the end. Believe it or not, I do love you in my strange and twisted way. You are the next generation of the Marauders, but you had so much more to worry about then pranks.  
  
Sincerely, for I doubt you'd appreciate love,  
  
Peter Pettigrew,  
  
AKA Wormtail  
  
Once again, Harry had silvery trials running down his face. He could bring his parents back. Sirius would be free. And everything would be how it should have been thirteen years before, except that the fourth member of the quartet known as the Marauders would be dead, alone and in misery for his final hours. Some would say that was how it should be. The next letter in the pile included. 


	5. About Lily

Once again, the young tenor picked up a cadence as it read through a letter. The bitterness in it was unmistakable, all though it was obvious that the writer had tried to keep it toned down. In it, there was much news that Harry had never known, and even more that he had never thought about. It was disturbing and enlightening, and no one would ever be able to fathom why the writer had bothered. But that was just it.  
  
Dear Harry,  
  
I know that my letter will come as quite a shock to you, all though I really can not say I am surprised to find myself sitting here in the dead of night, exhausting myself beyond all reason, simply to satisfy the urge that came over me. I know that you have a hard time believing that I would even care that my arch-rivals son is now the age of consent, but I ask that you read me out. It should enlighten you to know a few of the things that I have carefully avoided telling you all these years are about to come to light.  
  
You know that I became a death eater because I was forced to by my parents. What you do not know is that I learned to enjoy it. I started to love the feeling of power that the torture and the blood gave me. I used it to block out the pain that the beautiful Lily Evans, who had been my best friend and confidante until third year, was in love with a Gryffindor. One day, however, I was ordered to attack a house in Surrey. There was a little girl there. She told me, quite trustingly, that her name was Laurel Gabrielle Evans. Her little red pigtails reminded me, at that instant, of my best friend, lost to me so many years ago. Then it became clear. Lily had a little sister, born during her first year at Hogwarts. This little girl was the spitting image, right to the same green eyes. There was no way I could carry out my master's bidding. She was so alone, so helpless. Her parents were out for the day, and her baby sitter had fallen asleep by the television. My orders were to kill her. Instead, I put her into an enchanted sleep. Lily woke her, and I never heard about her again. That was when I began the long road to reconciliation.  
  
You may be wondering why Lily and I were best friends, and perhaps why we no longer were after third year. It's quite simple, really. You know that there have only been three Muggle born wizards to ever be sorted into Slytherin. All three were resorted eventually, when their parentage came out. They went to Ravenclaw. Not your mother. She was perhaps the only Muggle born witch to ever have been sorted in Slytherin, and she loved it there. She excelled in Potions and DADA, and she was a fierce member to our Quidditch team. She was a Seeker, like you, and no one could win a match against us when we had her on our side.  
  
She and I were almost instant friends, united against Potter and Black from the train on. She was a striking child. Not a classical beauty, but with arresting, contrasting features even then. Bright green eyes glowing from pale skin, poker straight blood red hair in two braids. I fell for her at the ripe old age of eleven. Since we were so close, I did not tell her. She eventually admitted to me that her parents were Muggles. I was shocked. She didn't fit the stereotypes that my parents had told me, ever. I helped her to make sure that no one, no matter what, would ever find out. It would have worked.  
  
I screwed up one day. At the end of out third year, I asked her out. She said no. She told me that she thought of me like a brother, and that she couldn't. I was angry, and so when she was leaving to go meet her parents, I stood out on the platform, and shouted, 'Have a good summer with the Muggles, Lily!' She turned around and looked at me. Her eyes were blazing, and her face had gone even whiter then parchment. To my dying day, I will never forget the look on her face. We didn't exchange letters, and when I saw her on the train, her jaw was set and she rushed by me. We never spoke again. Especially when she didn't sit with the Slytherins. Dumbledore had raised his wand at the feast, and made an announcement. Lily Evans would be re-sorted with the first years, as the faculty feared for her if she remained a Slytherin. I don't know who was more stunned, me or her, or the rest of the school. Lily Evans, not a Slytherin? WHAT could Dumbledore be thinking? As she sat on the school for a second time, she looked terrified. Finally, the hat announced, GRYFFINDOR. The shock showed on everyone's faces. Lily walked with as much dignity as a thirteen year old girl could muster, and sat at the very end of the table.  
  
When I discovered later how that effected her, I realized that I needed to apologize. I tried innumerable times, but she would walk right by me, like I was so much air. My thoughtless words, spoken for revenge, had cost her almost everything. The friends that she had, her Quidditch position, and her house. She was now an outcast.  
  
It took your father, Lupin, Black and Pettigrew to bring her back. Eventually, she regained her status as a Quidditch player. She was in on all of their pranks, except for one. She even became an illegal Animagi right along with them. She was a red Pegasus.  
  
I miss your mother horribly, although I have not spoken to her in twenty three years. You didn't know that, either. Your mother was nineteen when she had you. She turned twenty the day she died. Your mother was my only reason for the light, Harry. Even if she did despise me.  
  
And that, Mr. Potter, is my birthday gift to you. You hear a lot about your father at school, but you knew nothing about your mother. I hope that you appreciate this. It has not been easy for me to relive these old memories. As for your Aunt Laurel, I have no idea what happened to her. You may want to ask your Aunt, if you are indeed still with those wretched muggles. Happy seventeenth birthday, Harry. You will have an exhausting time when you get back to school, so enjoy the rest of your holiday.  
  
Sincerely,  
  
1 Prof. Severus Snape  
  
Ron and Hermione looked shocked. Snape had known Harry's mom? She was a Slytherin? And why had Snape bothered writing his most hated student? It was all a great mystery that really didn't matter at the moment. A time for revelations, indeed. Where had Aunt Laurel been when Harry was enduring the time at the Dursleys? Or perhaps, she had already been killed by then. Since Snape didn't do the job, someone else possible could have. It was something they would have to find out later. Harry was yawning, and he looked at his friends.  
  
"Look, I know these are interesting and all, but I'm beat. Why don't we save them for tomorrow, all right?" Ron and Hermione, attempting to give Harry time to think, agreed. Perhaps these letters were best read in the sunshine, up on a hill. 


	6. Memories on Parchment

A/N- Alright, I know that this is horribly late, and that my other stories aren't doing any better, and I'm SORRY! I did warn you at the beginning that this particular story would only be added to as I felt inspired. I had a BIG move to contend with, along with all that's associated with it, so better late then never. Enjoy!  
  
  
  
As Ron and Hermione watched, Harry slowly straightened himself up, and reached into the sheaf of papers that had brought them there. After passing out exhausted the night before, the three had awoken early. None of them could truly rest until they got through the letters that actually mattered. Already, there were several hundred seventeenth birthday greetings flying across the sky towards him. Mr. Weasley had suspected something like this would happen, and had performed a complicated charm that made letters from strangers drop at a designated point, while letters from friends and those he considered to be his family dropped into the Weasley's kitchen. They ignored these for now, for the only letters that truly mattered were beside him as he spoke.  
  
The envelope he had seemed to be well used, and the script was one they all recognized. After all, they had seen the very same writing on exam papers for the last two years. Harry sat back, and the young voice soon started to fall into its rhythm as he read the letter from their favourite professor.  
  
Dear Harry,  
  
I know that it has been a while since I have last written, but I thought that I would include birthday greetings with this letter. I have very few startling words of wisdom, and I'm guessing that many of the revelations that will be made today will not come from me. I must, however, attempt to make sure that you know the truth of your past as well as your future.  
  
Severus has already told Sirius and I that he will be telling you of your mother, and her Hogwarts years with him. I pray that you do not hold the fact that we never told you against Sirius and I. We were waiting until we thought you were old enough to handle it. Now, for some revelations of my own, Don't worry, my little lion, I will not drop bombs on you- or not too many, at any rate.  
  
Did you know that I was also named a godfather to you? As a werewolf, I could not be officially titled, but your parents had informed me that I was just as much a godfather as Sirius. It is a duty I have neglected at some times, and I am deeply ashamed of that. I tried to get custody of you when Lily and James were newly killed. I battled for months to try to adopt you, since I had met Petunia when Lily and I were growing up. We lived next door to each other until I was bitten. I demanded that we move, because I couldn't bear the thought that my best friend might have been in danger because of me. No one knew this, however. We agreed to keep it a secret, as I was a Gryffindor, and Lily was, for the first few years at least, a Slytherin. It was well known that I had been bitten in a Muggle neighbourhood, and we couldn't endanger her. We didn't associate until she was resorted. By then, She was a different girl then the one I had known. I fell in love with her. So did Sirius, and James. Peter never really liked her, but I guess she thought that they had made their peace.  
  
Lily would have none of us to begin with. In her heart, your mother was still a Slytherin, and it still rankled that she was consorting with a bunch of Gryffindors. As the disappointment waned she became more outgoing. She dated casually, occasionally with this boy, occasionally with that one. No one saw it coming. When Clover, your uncle, was killed, James consoled her. She had been so close to him, and James understood loss as his brother had just been killed in the first Quidditch game of the season. After that, they were inseparable. James protected her from the Slytherin slime that attempted to hurt her, and she gave back her all. She was a gifted prankster, and I miss her still. The love that Sirius and I bore her slowly transmuted into a brotherly love, and we got along famously. Had she lived, you would have been one of the most spoiled little boys ever to grace this planet.  
  
Your father was a complete opposite. He was a Gryffindor from his sorting on, and he never forgot it. He wanted you to be a chaser, like him. He knew you would play Quidditch one day, and was hoping to predetermine what position. I remember a huge argument, not long before the world fell apart, about it. Sirius wanted you to be a keeper, like him, and your mother wanted you to be a seeker, like her. She won. You insisted to James and Sirius that you were a Seeker, and that was the end of that. Who would have thought your baby decisions would come true in fact? James doted on you. He was away quite a bit, but he always found the time to cuddle you, to read to you, or to teach you about Quidditch. He even had a special baby carrier made for him broom so that he could take you flying without alarming Lily. He was quite the character, and I still miss him and your mother horribly. When I see them again, I hope that they will take it easy on me. They will be nineteen and in love forever. I am now a stodgy old professor. However, I remain your devoted other godfather.  
  
Love,  
  
Remus  
  
Harry shook, his brain was still overloading with all the family history he was being inundated with. Everyone had been in love with is mother? How odd was that? This letter was as strange as it was when he read it at midnight last night. He turned to Ron and Hermione, who had taken the moment of silence to start to snog. He laughed, a low throaty sound that seemed to clear his mind. His two best friends broke apart, no longer even blushing. Harry raised an eyebrow at them, and all three of them started to laugh. The sound seemed to match the beautiful day they were sitting in. They took a moment to absorb the silence before Harry moved on to the next letter in the dwindling pile. The darkness that the letters brought was infused with light, and they knew that they could get through most letters without a problem, as long as the three of them were there to support each other.  
  
  
  
A/N- Don't forget to REVIEW! That poor little counter hasn't gone up in AGES. 


	7. In Time

A/N- This is the last letter in this fic. I haven't had the time to work on it that I would have liked, so I'm ending it. I have been saving this letter for last. As for my other fics, I don't know when I'll be updating. I will when I can, but I'm working two jobs at the moment.  
  
Harry settled down, and opened the last letter in the stack. It, ilke the others, held meaning for him, and it was the one that meant the most. Though the ones from his parents had meant everything, this letter was the most important. This letter was from someone who loved him, who understood him, who knew what it was like to be surrounded by the spotlight and to have never done anything to deserve it. The plain brown envelope was marked in a firm hand, and Ron and Hermione didn't need to ask whom it was from. They knew. There was only one person left.  
  
Dear Harry,  
  
I cannot believe that you are now an adult. Those days, when you were an infant and your parents laughed so freely, are now sixteen years behind us. It pains me to think of how much they have missed. They will never see what I have seen. You are a man, and I am so proud of you. I wish that you could have come to live with me, but I also realize that life as a convict on the run is not healthy for a growing boy. Now, however, I have new hope that I might be able to apprehend Peter. We may be able to be a family, for the small amount of time that you will need one.  
  
Harry, you have been what has kept me sane during this long, dark reign that we have all been living under. Watching you grow, albeit from afar, has given me both giddy pleasure and insurmountable sadness. Pleasure, because in you I see the happy go lucky baby, and the gangly thirteen year old grown into a man. You are your own man, but in you my two best friends live on. Every once in a while, you seem like you are Lily, staring at me through those eyes. Telling me that I had better not let you down. Sometimes, you cock your head, and I have to shake myself to remember that this is Harry I'm talking to, not James. Those little reminders allow me to keep going, knowing that there is a future. As Lily once said, you are our future- and you have grown up. That argument was the one that finally won James over into letting her charm you. It was needed, but the thought of her death terrified him.  
  
You are a survivor. I know that these last few years, ever since your re-entrance into the wizarding world, have been hard on you. No one is fully prepared to find out that they are magical. You had more to stomach then most. Professor Dumbledore was watching you very carefully, to see how you adjusted. And while I wish that he had told you that you were the Heir of Gryffindor rather sooner then he did, I can not fault his decision not to.  
  
I regret the years that you had to spend with those horrid Muggles. One of the greatest torments of Azkaban was remembering how cruelly Petunia treated Lily, and then imagining you at her mercy. Getting you away from her was one of the things that kept me sane. I knew you were defenceless. I knew that you had no way of knowing what really happened. I vowed when they took me away that you would know me. Of course, they all assumed I meant you would know me a s your parent's betrayer. What I meant that day was that you would know me as me, the man I was and am starting to regain. I am your godfather, and I hope you realize that there is no way that I am ever going to give you up. You are all I have left of them.  
  
Ordinarily, your father would be giving some big speech of how with great power comes great responsibility, and that you need to make sure that you plan you steps just a little. He would tell you to be reckless occasionall, love with your whole self, and to never offer anything but your best. But I am not your father, and so I am going to assume that you know all this. I know that you are an intelligent, good looking young man, and I am proud of you. I love you Harry. Don't forget that.  
  
Now, before Moony comes in and starts snickering to see that I did exactly what I vowed I would NOT do, and that was write you a really sentimental and soppy letter for your birthday, I'm going to sign off. You'll be seeing me again sooner then you think.  
  
-Sirius.  
  
(I couldn't write the code. Not after that!)  
  
  
  
Harry set the letter down, and looked down the hill at the little village nestled into the hills. Staring at the little houses, he shook his head. Then abruptly, in sunk in. He was seventeen. He was an adult. He had a spell to bring his parents back, and ways to clear Sirius's name. Clear Sirius he would definitely do, immediately. Bring his parents back? He didn't know. They would only be two years older then he was, now. Which was worse, to leave them resting as Voldemort fell them, or to bring them back into a world that had lived sixteen tears without them? He shook his head. This was a question to be debated on a far more dreary day. Then, quite unexpectedly to everyone including himself, he started to laugh. A full throated laugh, full of fun, and then he lay down and the top of the hill, and rolled his way down the hill to meet the big black dog at the bottom. His two best friends followed behind. Twenty minutes later, no one noticed the young, redheaded girl climb quietly out of the tree with tear trails running down her face. She quietly slipped back into the rambling house, and waited for the others to arrive.  
  
  
  
A/N- Yes, I know I left it wide open for a sequel. I tend to do that. But you will also notice that my sequels very rarely get finished. HP and the Search for Laurel is next. Have that chapter already written. Now, please be a good reader and REVIEW!! My poor little counter is feeling abandoned. 


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